


This isn't what the Internet was invented for (but it'll do)

by kameo_chan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humour, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kameo_chan/pseuds/kameo_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles discovers the Insanity Wolf meme and goes to town. Derek is not amused, except maybe he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This isn't what the Internet was invented for (but it'll do)

**Author's Note:**

> Posted originally on Tumblr after [this](http://lokh.tumblr.com/post/31259108059/there-has-to-be-like-some-kinda-crack-fic-maybe) post. Credit goes to [lokh](http://lokh.tumblr.com/) for the idea, and to [these](http://slightlywarped.com/crapfactory/curiosities/2011/november/best_of_insanity_wolf.htm) [sites](http://www.buzzfeed.com/sarahs28/insanity-wolfs-greatest-hits-1yzj) for the memes. Cleaned up, reworked and expanded on a bit.

It starts when Stiles stumbles onto KnowYourMeme. He’s browsing through the ever-growing list of memes, bookmarking the ones he likes, frowning at how incomprehensible some of them seem - honestly, the internet breeds morons like broodmothers breed darkspawn - and then it happens.

He stumbles across the Insanity Wolf meme and it's like a shower of potential comedic gold blasting him full in the face. And then it takes about all of two seconds for an idea to take root in his mind, like a particularly vindictive weed reaching gleeful feelers into the dark, mischief-rich soil of his soul. He opens up the image gallery, enlarges all of the most appropriate images and prints them out. The printer sounds like a munitions factory preparing for war, which what Stiles is planning is, in a way.

Once everything is printed - and the ink hasn’t even dried on the last few pages, but what the hell - Stiles looks at his handiwork, and _smiles_.

—-

The first incident happens while Derek is out shopping at the local grocery store. It isn't something he actively likes doing, but it's one of those tedious, necessary tasks that won't just take care of itself and so he has to. Besides, it’s completely justifiable, since he has a pack of teenaged werewolves eating him out of home and warehouse whenever they actually deign to shut up and submit to a lackluster version of training. And it is training, dammit; Jackson can go fuck himself for saying that it’s Derek's sense of sadism rearing its ugly head. Jackson doesn’t know what sadism is, Derek thinks with a huff. Then again, he’s with Lydia, and God only knows even Derek finds himself sometimes treading carefully around her, so maybe Jackson has a point. 

At any rate, he finds the note tucked underneath one of the Camaro’s windshield wipers when he comes out, arms almost akimbo with grocery bags. Derek frowns, sets down the groceries and casts the parking lot a wary glance. If this is a missive from the Alpha Pack, they clearly don't give a shit as to who might take notice. There are a few other customers, but none are anywhere near him or his car. He sniffs the air, but that’s not much help either. The air’s too polluted with a hundred thousand conflicting scents, and the car itself only smells of himself and the pack and the woods as it always does.

Derek reaches out and plucks the note off the windshield. It’s not a fine or a notice, at least; that much is clear by the lack of an official logo or header of any kind. It's not a warning either, given that nothing about it sets his hackles rising. Nope, it’s just an ordinary sheet of paper with picture of a black wolf baring its fangs menacingly printed on it. Above and below the wolf are captions reading: **THE SNACK THAT SMILES BACK. CHILDREN.**

Derek can feel his eyebrows knitting together so hard it actually hurts a little. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t want to get it and if he finds the person responsible for this, he’s going to recalibrate their sense of humor by shoving his foot so far up their ass, their throat’ll have hemorrhoids. He crumples the paper and tosses the ball over his shoulder before unlocking the car and stacking the grocery bags on the passenger seat, making sure nothing is in danger of spilling or breaking.

—-

The next one finds him when he returns from the boys’ locker room one afternoon about a week and a half later. Again, him visiting a locker room despite not having attended high school in over seven years is justified by the fact that he really needed to have an urgent word with Isaac about him skipping out of pack training in favor of lacrosse practice with Scott. Derek gets how important regular teenaged things are to the younger wolves, he really does. But there is a pack of alphas heading their way and each and every one of them needs to be prepared; on high alert and ready when the time comes.

The school’s parking lot, unlike the grocery store’s, is almost completely deserted except for Stiles’ jeep and one or two other cars. But Derek stops dead in his tracks half way to the Camaro and spins around to see if he can spot a perpetrator in any case, because even from thirty feet off, he can make out the same TV static, black-and-white background as the one on the previous note.

When no one magically appears to take responsibility for their actions, Derek stomps over to his car and yanks the note from the windshield. This one declares: **VIOLENCE ISN’T THE ANSWER, VIOLENCE IS THE QUESTION. THE ANSWER IS YES.**

Which, okay, Derek can sort of appreciate the humor in that one, and if he smirks a little, it’s only because the note is one hundred percent on the dot about the fate of whoever is leaving these stupid little death wishes for him to find. Instead of balling this one up, Derek folds it neatly and stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans. He’s going to keep it and pin it up somewhere in the warehouse. It’ll be good motivation for the betas.

—-

Derek isn’t really surprised when he finds the third one - not on the windshield this time, but taped to the driver’s side window. It’s been about another week since the last one, and Derek doesn’t even bother looking around this time, because the Sheriff’s Office is probably the last place anyone with common sense in their heads would ever pick to vandalize a car, at least not without a few people taking notice. He thinks about heading back in and reporting it, but then the thought of having to deal with Stiles' dad crops up and Derek vetoes himself on that score. Having to work with him is difficult enough when Stiles and Scott are around and he's not actually trying to arrest Derek.

At least now though, Derek can ascertain that it isn’t the work of some random, mentally-unbalanced sociopath who obliviously likes to go around pissing off alpha werewolves. No, this has to be the work of someone either in his pack, or Scott’s. This is someone he knows and who knows him in turn, enough that people won't start questioning them when they start taping crap to his car. The only unfortunate thing about this week’s encounter is that Peter just has to be present to witness it.

“Someone left an Insanity Wolf printout on your car,” Peter points out, carefully catching a corner of tape and yanking it off in a smooth motion that always reminds Derek of the way Laura had removed his band-aids as a cub.

“A what?” Derek asks flatly, snatching at the picture. But Peter, despite his weakness, is still faster than he looks, and Derek manages to grasp nothing but thin air.

“Uh-uh,” Peter tuts, waving a finger at him, before idly scanning the picture. “Insanity Wolf, it’s a meme.” There’s a moment of silence during which Derek just looks at Peter like he’s gone even more insane than he already is, and Peter huffs indignantly. “I’ll explain it once we get home. God, and to think that you're the younger one.”

And then Peter’s eyebrows try to merge with his hairline when he scans the picture again, more carefully. “Oh my. Well, whoever left this certainly had high hopes. Anyone in there I should know about?” he asks, gesturing to the Sheriff's Office.

Derek makes another grab for the note, deftly plucking it from Peter’s hands this time and reads: **COP PULLS YOU OVER. LET HIM OFF WITH A WARNING.**

“If it weren’t for the fact that I know how ridiculously virtuous you are and how pathetically nonexistent your sex life is, I’d almost think there’s a suggestion of a clandestine romance happening here, what with the love note and everything,” Peter teases, snatching the paper back and shaking it at Derek's face.

“Shut up. And don’t ever talk about my sex life again.” Derek can’t help but feel a bit flustered at today’s little memo. It is kind of uncalled for, given his feelings about the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Office at any given time.

“Mind if I keep this?” Peter asks as he slides into the passenger seat once Derek unlocks the doors. "I’d like to put it up somewhere I know it’ll annoy you.”

Derek can’t help the frustrated growl that escapes him. If he jabs the key into the ignition a little too forcefully, and tears away from the curb while almost hitting one of the patrol cars, well… He’s not the one leaving shitty little post-its all over his own car, now is he?

—-

By the time the fourth one does the rounds, Derek just reaches out and plucks it off the roof without even bothering to look at it. The car’s parked at the curb outside Isaac’s house and he’d just gone inside for a couple of minutes, just to see if Isaac was ready for their emergency pack meeting yet. “What was that?” Isaac asks, craning his neck to peer over the roof.

“Nothing,” Derek bites back. But being himself and bearing in mind that the Universe hates him, Isaac just has to lean over and give him one of his trademark inquisitive grins.

“It’s another Insanity Wolf pic, isn’t it?”

Derek feels like ripping into something and just going to town on tearing shit apart. Fucking Peter and his inability to shut up about anything pertaining to Derek’s life.

“It doesn’t matter. Get in the car,” Derek snarls, and okay, it’s not really fair that he’s taking this out on Isaac, but it’s getting to the point where he’s not amused anymore by finding crap like this plastered all over the Camaro. It's getting a little old and a lot stale by now.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Isaac mutters; folding his lanky frame into the seat, and Derek sighs and relents, because if there’s one person on the planet who’s better than Scott at doing a kicked puppy impersonation, it’s Isaac.

“Fine. Here, read it and tell me what I have to put up with this week.” Derek hands Isaac the note and stoically ignores the way his features light up like a Christmas tree.

“Oh man, oh man this one’s _good_ ,” Isaac giggles, his whole body shaking with mirth. “It says: ‘ **CHLOROFORM IS THE BEST PICK UP LINE**.’” Derek shakes his head and clenches his jaw shut in an effort not to break the steering column in half, which results in another bout of giggles from Isaac.

“Do you have any idea as to who’s been leaving you these yet?” Isaac manages to ask in between all the chortling and snickers. 

“No, but I know it’s someone we know. And if I find them, there’ll be hell to pay.” And he has been making lists and checking them twice for a while now. His top suspects include Erica, Lydia and Stiles. All that’s left is just to determine exactly which one of them is the culprit, because Derek’s fairly certain that Scott’s self-preservation instincts are still more-or-less intact, and neither Boyd nor Jackson seem like the type to go through all this effort just to piss him off and take a crack at him. Allison hasn’t even crossed his mind, because her idea of funny would include sticking him so full of sharp, pointy objects that he’d look like a were-porcupine.

“Oh God, Stiles is rubbing off on me,” he mutters, rubbing at one of his temples. It’s debatable as to whether or not Isaac hears him over the sound of his own laughter, so Derek just starts the car and heads for the warehouse.

—-

Stiles will be the first to admit that sometimes his schemes don’t always go according to plan. Right now is one of those moments. Derek is looming over him with that particular brand of menace that seems to say, _In my mind, I’ve already digested most of your major organs_. And if Stiles is completely honest with himself, he should’ve known that Derek would cotton on eventually.

He just hadn’t been expecting it to happen quite so early into his little pranking endeavor. Especially not here, at the old Hale house with the rest of the pack safely inside and probably oblivious to the mortal peril Stiles is currently in. What can he say? He’d seen a perfect opportunity and tried to seize it. It’s just how he rolls.

“Hey there Derek,” he chimes out, trying for jovial and nonchalant and coming off scared and a bit reedy instead. Because it's not like he's holding a roll of tape in one hand and the latest issue of Insanity Wolf Weekly in the other or anything. All in very close proximity to Derek’s sleek, sexy ride, no siree. Which is very sleek and very sexy and will probably become an accessory to murder soon enough. Or evidence, because, well, cars are inanimate unless they're Transformers or his Jeep.

“Stiles,” Derek says. And Stiles gulps, because he knows that tone of voice. That is Derek’s _you-have-three-seconds-to-run-or-I’m-going-to-kill-you-in-a-really-bloody-and-visceral-way_ voice. Which is actually really good advice that Stiles should be following, especially considering this week’s edition of the infamous note reads: **WHAT DO I CALL A PERSON WHO RUNS FASTER THAN ME? A VIRGIN**. And Stiles is still so very much a virgin, and come on, no one wants to die that way. It’s just sad.

“I can explain?” he offers sheepishly, already half-shielding his face with one of his forearms, because he’s not going to look like shit at his own wake. He may not be Derek _I-put-Calvin-Klein-underwear-models-to-shame_ Hale, but he knows he’s good looking enough to deserve NOT looking like a tenderized piece of steak when people mourn at his open casket.

“I’d love to hear it then,” Derek says levelly and wow, Stiles isn’t dying. At least not yet. Stiles wishes he could say that he and Derek have reached a stage in their relationship where he’s absolutely certain that Derek won’t pull a Dahmer on his ass, but then again, he’s never been one to tempt fate. Much. Okay, at least not all the time. 

“I have deep-seated issues pertaining to authority figures?” Stiles tries grinning, but Derek’s murderface suddenly shifts to Version 2.0, complete with a hint of fang and Stiles has to backpedal hastily. “Just kidding, just kidding! Down boy! Look, I’m sorry, okay? I thought it’d be funny, because you’re always all ‘Grrr! I am Alpha, hear me roar!’ and I just… I guess I just wanted to see you smile or laugh or something, because you’re always so _serious_.”

There’s a good minute or two of silence between them, and Stiles has almost relaxed completely, thinking that maybe he’s broken Derek’s brain for good - which, while not a good thing by any stretch of the imagination, wouldn't technically be a _bad_ thing either - when Derek reaches out and hauls him close by the lapels of his shirt.

“I don’t wanna die a virgin!” Stiles yells, scrunching up his face and praying hard to every deity imaginable, _not the claws please not the claws I'm too pretty to have my face shredded like old lettuce_. But nothing happens, and when he risks a peek at Derek, it’s to see him smiling. Or well, it would’ve been a smile on anyone else, but on Derek it’s more of a smirk.

“I’m nothing like Insanity Wolf,” Derek says, but there’s a very real glint of red in his eyes. “I’m a lot more like Courage Wolf. I aim to motivate, Stiles, not wreak havoc on the poor townsfolk. Besides, Insanity Wolf is a bottom. You should look it up. Maybe do your homework a little more thoroughly next time.” And then he gives a little shove that sends Stiles stumbling back a few steps, and holy shit, did Derek freaking Hale just crack a joke?

“I’m alerting the Pentagon! And Interpol! Possibly NATO, too!” Stiles cries as Derek turns back towards the house. “You just smiled _and_ cracked a joke, so you can’t be Derek! You’re some kind of sourwolf-imitating bodysnatcher!” Derek doesn’t reply, but his shoulders shake fitfully and there’s a definite snort or two as he walks away, which hello, rude much?

And then another thought occurs to him. "Hey! How'd you figure out it was me?" he hollers at Derek's back. "Cause that's why you came out here, isn't it?"

Derek turns around once he's on the porch steps and gives Stiles an honest-to-God, no-holds-barred _grin_. "I didn't," he says, and the way his teeth flash in the late afternoon light is both sinister and dangerously fascinating. "I was just wor... wondering why you weren't inside with the rest of us." He heads back in then, leaving Stiles reeling and leaning against the Camaro for support, all alone outside with the Insanity Wolf printout still clutched in his hand.


End file.
